Thank you, Dr Stiles
by Crazy Girl Person
Summary: All he wanted was to help people. For this, they showed him their gratitude.


Notice: I highly recommend that you read Paying the Price first, or this will make no sense.

Thank You, Dr. Stiles

He ran.

His footsteps teased him, booming around him loudly but taking him nowhere. His surroundings were all the same. It was a moving montage of charred, twisted landscape settled beneath a churning, blood red sky. Whispers rose from the long dead grass. Occasionally, a pair of veined orbs would stare up at him, shuddering in the withered skulls that held them.

They rolled and followed his every move, leaving him unable to escape their gaze. He wildly turned in place, finding the swollen dots speckle the ground all around him. From each one, a different voice, but they rasped the same whisper that filled the air.

"_Thank you, Dr. Stiles."_

Over each one, he saw a faded imprint. A patient he had treated, their then healthy eyes brimming with gratitude under his care. But now, they were powered by nothing but shock and remorse, begging the man why he had hurt them so.

"_Thank you, Dr. Stiles."_

Their betrayed whimpers cut through him. They slipped through the hands he pressed to his ears and nibbled at his brain. The cuts they drew there bled into his eyes, rendering him unable to block out the images either.

"Please . . ." he choked. "I'm sorry . . . please . . just please stop . . ."

But they did not. They continued whispering his name, giving him all the thanks he deserved.

"_Thank you, Dr. Stiles"_

A lone figure caught his eye, standing strong in contrast to the twitching bodies. The silhouette was every bit as blackened as the rest of them, but her eyes were a vibrant green, pulling him towards them. The shadows drizzled from her form as he approached, giving him a brief sense of relief. "Angie . . ."

His breath was sucked dry. She merely stared at him, unblinking, as she cradled a small form in her arms. Its eyes matched the others, pale, yellow and bulging, but she took no notice. She was too busy staring at him with her own glassy eyes. A dull reflection swirled within them, overflowing from her eyes and trickling down her chin. Her lip did not as much as quiver with the heavy steams of tears washing her face. In fact, she seemed completely indifferent to them and the large puddles that soaked the earth which each tear that fell.

He watched, taking a slight step back as the salty water pooled at his feet. Just beneath his distorted reflection he saw a small montage begin to play, his mouth dropped wide at what it revealed.

A loving smile . . .

A miraculous birth . . .

A tiny bundle . . . flailing its new limbs happily . . .

Ribbons of crimson began floating up to the surface, staining the image and drowning it out. He grimaced as the angry sky and grim scenery once again became visible behind his rippled reflection. He looked back up at the woman and the figure she held. The bundle was not squirming this time, but merely staring up at him hurtfully.

"_Thank you, Dr. Stiles."_

The girl's voice was no different than the rest and yet, in every way it was. Moisture pricked his eyes. "Angie. . ." he reached out his hand for her. "This . . . it can't be like this . . ." Slowly his trembling fingers pressed against her sternum, gentle at first. He held them there, his breath labored as he looked at the figure she held.

"_Thank you, Dr. Stiles."_

A snarl gripped his brow and lips. His fingers thrust through her chest, crunching the ribs between them. Blood sputtered from the wound, draining the dull shade of grey on her skin and flushing it with her natural pink. Her body drew limp, held up only by the hand within her torso and she shuddered. The glassy film lifted from her eyes as she looked into his. Her expression remained calm as his grew horrified and a smile fluttered on her dying lips.

"Thank you . . . Dr. Stiles."

The color faded to an ivory white, the body in her arms slowly dissolving as she grew stiff and cold in his grasp.

-----

Derek nearly choked on his scream as he shot up. A heavy coat of sweat washed his face as he panted, finding himself sitting rigid at his desk. Various papers and supplies were scattered in the midst of his nightmare, but he was too frightened to care. He gratefully drank in the image of his office in hopes of calming himself down, though he had a feeling his heart rate would not be dropping any time soon. If this had merely been a bad dream, he may have been able to do that, but it was more than a dream . . . he knew that. He knew that all too well.

His hand shook horridly as he brought it to his moist brow. "Oh God help me."

"Derek?"

Angie appeared at his side before he had a chance to look up. She cradled the trembling hand still on his desk with both of her own, casting him a sorrowful look as she squeezed it gently. "Another nightmare?"

"Y . . . yeah . ." Derek gasped as he still tried to catch his breath.

"It sounded awful. Are you okay?"

"I . . . I don't know . . ."

Angie sighed as she flicked away his wet bangs. "I'm going to get you some water. I'll be right back." Her fingers reluctantly slipped from his own as she left, pausing at the door to give him a glance before entering the hall. With her departure, Derek leaned into his desk, resting his elbows upon it as he clutched his temples. A terrified hiccup escaped him as his pounding heart burned in his chest. "Is this really it?" he whispered. "Am I going to be haunted for the rest of my life?"

"You are living a life not your own, Stiles."

A strained cry pushed through his throat as he shot up. His dilated eyes flew to the glowing red specks in the corner of his office. Though drenched in the thick shadows beside the room's bookshelf, the dark imprint of the figure was visible all the same, its smirk evident even before it stepped forward and allowed the dim office light to pour over it. "Your life belongs to our master."

"Sh . . . shut up . . ." he whispered, clenching his eyes closed. "It's a lie . . . I'm not listening to you . . ."

"Now, now Derek. Is this anyway to greet your bestest friend ever?"

The light footsteps stalked slowly towards his desk and brought with them a biting chill. It nibbled relentlessly onto his already shaking body and he gritted his teeth to quell the trembling. His desk gave a soft creak from the wood as the figure placed its hands upon it and leaned in, causing Derek to cringe at the coldness that lingered before him. "Keep your eyes closed all you want. I'm not leaving."

With a shuddering breath, his eyes opened against his will and he would have drawn back at the sight of Didymus' wounded body had he not seen it so often. In truth, the horrid doppelganger did not look too bad with his condition considered. He managed to keep his head upright despite the splintered neck cartilage that still pierced his flesh. The burst jugular vein proved to be ever resilient, dangling from the wound which managed to remain as fresh as the day it was inflicted. The smell of the blood that gurgled freely within it seeped through his nose and sighed heavily onto the crevices of his brain. He bit his lip, forcing his mind to clear through the twinge of intoxication.

"Don't fight it, Stiles. Go on . . . drink it in." Didymus chuckled as he brought a hand up to his pulsing wound. He slipped his fingers through the torn flesh, emitting a sickening noise as he gently clawed at the inners of his throat. "Here . . ." The dull light gleamed off of his blood drenched fingers as he removed them from the hole. Thick splotches of red spattered against the polished wood of the desk as he extended his hand out. "I know you've been craving it . . ."

"Get the hell away from me!" Derek yelled and smacked the hand away from him. Didymus' brows creased in annoyance but that obnoxious smirk of his did not dip for even a second.

"You're rude, Stiles." he brought the fingers to his own lips, savoring the rich blood on his own tongue. "We've been through so much, you and I . . . and I even forgave you for this . . ." He flicked the blood vessel that dangled from his neck.

"I don't want your forgiveness! I want you to get out of my head!"

"Not gonna happen. You are me – I am you . . . you can't get rid of yourself."

Derek narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I can." His right hand flew to his chest and pressed against it with gnarled fingers. "Now . . ." he growled. "Go. To. Hell."

The shivers in his body violently raked his frame. His palm stung bitterly from the ice that seeped from it, trickling through his skin and down his ribcage. Derek squeezed his previously wide eyes shut, his breath growing short and rapid as he felt his pounding heart become numb. His stomach, on the other hand, was anything but and began churning madly. He bit his lip to fight the nausea and rested his forehead against his desk, his head becoming light as the regretful hint of blood lust drained from it. After several labored breaths and a fresh wash of cold sweat on his brow, Derek lifted his head, drinking in a grateful gasp upon finding his office empty, the blood drops gone . . .

"Here you – Derek?"

He turned his head towards Angie, watching as the nurse approached him with a glass of water and wash cloth in hand. "What happened? You look paler all of a sudden."

"I, uh . . . I'm just a little shaken up is all . . ." he murmured.

"A little?"

"Okay . . . a lot."

Angie sighed as she held the glass out to him. "Here. Drink this."

Though taking care to handle the glass in his trembling fingers, Derek eagerly gulped the water down in hopes of soothing his parched throat. He stopped for a moment to take in a breath and felt his glasses being lifted from his face. Blinking, he saw Angie sitting on his desk as she placed them beside her, her other hand still clutching the wash cloth. "Angie, what are you doing?"

"Hold still for a second." She pressed her left hand against one side of his face, while her right made quick work of dabbing the moist wash cloth on his temple. Derek allowed himself to lean into her touch, calmed by it and her presence. Angie frowned slightly as she cradled his cheek and wiped his forehead.

"_Paging Dr. Stiles and Nurse Thompson. Please report to the ambulance deployment lot immediately. I repeat, Dr. Stiles and Nurse Thompson report to the ambulance deployment lot immediately."_

The two cast a glance up at the PA voice over their heads before returning to one another. Angie sighed, biting her lip as she looked at the paled doctor before her. Derek dripped a heavy breath as well, reaching for his glasses and pushing back his moist bangs. "Duty calls . . ." he murmured.

"Are you sure you can handle it? You don't look well at all."

"I'll be all right. I just . . . need to get my head together." He rose and massaged his temples as Angie slid from the desk. "Besides, I don't think we have much choice in the matter. It sounds like an emergency . . ."

"That's true . . . just take it easy, okay?"

He looked at her and forced a feeble grin. "I'm fine. We better hurry."

"Right." Angie murmured and the duo left the office.

No rest for the weary . . . .

-----

Derek's life sucks! And it's all my fault . . . :cries:

So, I had entertained the idea of doing a sequel to PtP for a while now, but it ended up being too fucking crazy. So rather than a sequel I think I may do a series of epilogues about Derek's life after the events, just to drive home how epically screwed he is.

That and I love this piece to death. I couldn't stand to let it collect dust on my computer any longer.

Oh, and by the way, I wrote this before P4 was announced, so the whole "you are me, I am you" thing is coincidental. I promise . . . though it does entertain the idea of a Persona/Trauma Center cross over.

Meh, well, enjoy anyway.


End file.
